7 Days
by Jonathan Dupont
Summary: To Harry Potter it seems like he has always lived a happy and Voldemort free life. But all good things come to an end, and Harry is about to find his version of life shattered... An AU fic.
1. Sunday

****

– Spoilers for Harry Potter I to IV – 

Sunday – Problem

Reluctantly Harry opened his eyes and allowed the morning to invade his drowsy mind. As his eyes opened, his glance fell naturally on the clock ("Time to get up") and he knew that this time he really shouldn't just lie back down and let the sleep take over. Carefully and slowly, in fact very, very slowly, Harry Potter got out of bed.

He liked his room - although there was normally something new to trip over on. The cheerful blue wallpaper was about the simplest thing in the room, and even that was mostly hidden by his collection of jumble. No matter how much they argued Harry always insisted that it was organised to him. He _knew_ where his Quidditch magazine collection should be, where his school books should be (with the homework he most wanted to forget about carefully placed at the bottom) and even where he had put his now carefully hidden collection of action figures - it wasn't his fault that it mysteriously seemed to continue to mix itself up. Personally he had a suspicious eye on the cat. The whole mess made it a strange kind of maze to get to the other side of the room, but one that he was used to and could do easily. 

In a few seconds he had made his way over to the sink where he quickly splashed some water over his face. His window was there, and half-smiling he stared down at the lawn where his mother was busy gardening. Over the summer he had spent many lazy days in that garden and he knew he would miss its peacefulness in the usual busy muddle of school life. Well, mostly the garden had been peaceful - he had only had the occasional water fight with Ron and James.

"Harry! Are you getting down here or not?"

He smiled; sometime he really would have to find out how to sabotage that sleepometer. Having his father being able to tell exactly when he was awake was something he could live without. He wondered if Fred and George would know how to do it.

It would be good to see them, and he hadn't seen Ron or James for a week or two either. Sure, he would have to put up with Malfoy and that horrible Hermione Granger girl (was there anything she didn't know?), but if he admitted it he was even beginning to miss their taunts as well. Yes, it would be good to be back at school, all things considering. After all, hadn't Cho split up with Cedric over the holidays? He smiled, Cedric had deserved what he got (Harry had still not quite got over Cedric being chosen over a Gryffindor for house champion).

Cheerily he opened his bedroom door, and then...

__

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. 

He was in sitting in an old wooden house, almost a hut, which would have been cold and draughty but for the blazing heat from the fireplace. He was staring at the vaguely familiar Hogwarts gamekeeper, staring at him as if what he was saying was the most important thing in the world. 

"How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!"

He staggered, gasping, and leant heavily against the wall. 

What had happened?

Okay, breathe deeply, breathe deeply - nothing could hurt you here. You-Know-Who had been killed a long time ago, and the nightmares were just that - dreams with no meaning. He just had to ignore them, and get on with his life. 

But he had never had a nightmare in the day before had he?

"Harry, are you alright?"

It was his mother, looking very concerned and staring up at him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah," he almost whispered. "I'm fine. Really."

She nodded, and walked off. Harry wouldn't exactly have called her convinced, but was too busy with Terry to argue. Besides, she and his dad for the last few weeks had seemed to be deliberately acting as if they trusted him to be mature. Probably so they could load his siblings on him later. As it was they still wanted him to look after Sally even though she'd been at Hogwarts for three years already.

Gradually regaining his confidence he descended the stairs and made his way into the dining room where the rest of the family was gathered. Breakfast was in full swing.

Terry was being, well Terry, at the end of the table, making as much of a mess as possible, and almost as much noise. But then he had the excuse of being only two which his eight-year-old brother (similarly noisy) couldn't probably use. He was discussing something very important to him with Harry's Dad, although James Potter was only half listening. 

On his right was fourteen year old Sally who was busy reading a huge book, and she seemed to be the only who wasn't actually making any noise. She looked, Harry thought to his disgust, look a younger Hermione. Sitting down, he peeked at the title of the book she was reading. Just as he expected it was one of his own old textbooks which she was using for the coming year. He scowled at his fulfilled suspicions.

This was his family, and in his more liberal moments he might even admit that he had grown quite fond of him. He let the noise wash over and in him, each wave reminding him that nightmares weren't real and how ridiculous he was being. 

His mother came in one of her rounds from the kitchen. This year wasn't quite as bad as Sally's first year, but she was still stressed by the almost unending load of jobs she had to do. As she placed his breakfast down (along with a letter from Ron), he asked her, "Mum, can I help?"

She smiled. "Not now, dear. But you really need to finish your packing. I thought you were going to do that last night."

He gulped guiltily. "I was, but there was very interesting article in _Quidditch Monthly_ and... Sorry."

She nodded, a half smile on her face. "Well just make sure you do preferably before 10 minutes after we're due to leave."

"You had lots of time to practise on your Firebolt from what I could see."

Harry glared at his sister. "You know how important this year's cup is going to be... Well you would do if you actually cared about Quidditch like any normal person." Harry reckoned that she was still jealous that he'd managed to persuade his parents to get him the expensive broom.

"Harry," warned his father from behind his newspaper.

"It's alright father," Sally said sweetly, "my brother just doesn't realise that not everything in the world revolves around catching stupid little flying things."

James Potter didn't see anything, but from his look it was obvious that he didn't quite agree. Sally continued, unabashed. You didn't live in the Potter household for 15 years without realising that the majority were quite in favour of catching stupid little flying things. 

"I like Quidditch!" Ben protested.

Sally smiled patiently at Ben. She had always been very fond of the eight-year-old even when he had been in the phase where Harry couldn't stand to be in the same room with him for three minutes. "Yes, but hopefully you'll grow out of it. Maybe I'll teach you Chess or something that actually requires some..."

"There's nothing wrong with Quidditch!" protested Ben. "It's..."

Harry unconsciously gasped.

"..._great. I mean it helps with..."_

The tone, indentation or volume hadn't changed, but still Harry knew there was something very wrong and very different. What was happening? Was it the dreams again?"

_"Alright you two," said their father, "let's just agree to disagree, alright?"_

Him too, his father too. Harry was shaking now, scared of what was going on and what was happening to him. And now the others were turning around and staring at him.

His mother had walked in too. _"Harry, are you alright?"_

No, please not his mother. How could they all seem so... so lifeless?

"Harry?" That was Sally's voice, and he had never been so relieved as when he had heard it. There could be no doubt about that voice, and the life that filled it. As the others spoke again he realised that they were all back. Bu back to what?

"I...I'm fine," he stuttered and found with a shock that he was sweating heavily. "Can I get down for a bit?"

His mother nodded, her face still intensely worried. "Will you be alright for school?" He nodded, and made his way back to his bedroom. As his feet touched the eighth step he felt it starting again... 

_"Harry?" It was Ron, his familiar freckled face staring down at him. He was on the steps, but no longer of his own house. Instead they were the stairs of another place he knew – the Burrow. He turned round and below he could see the familiar kitchen with three Weasleys at the table and their mother bustling around._

"Are you okay?" Hermione? What was she doing in the Weasleys house? He stared at her – she had just come up from behind Ron. Nothing was making sense, shouldn't James be here? Yes, Ron had definitely said that James was staying with him and Harry never known the boy not to be the last to leave the table.

"What..." Harry started, and suddenly knowledge flowed through his brain. For a moment he knew, _and then..._

His foot reached the next step, and staring around he knew that he was back in the Potter household. He was relieved and yet almost slightly annoyed. For that last moment in the dream (it was a dream, of course it was a dream) it had almost been like everything had been normal again. Now he was just as confusing as ever.

Sighing, he went back into his room and laid down onto his bed. Right, he had to work out what was going on. He could do it logically, like he was playing chess – no, organising Quidditch tactics. He didn't know whether to smile or whether to cry over his small defiance over Sally, it seemed that pathetic.

Alright, alright he told himself. Let's get on with it. First of all, what are the dreams? 

_"Your mother and father are dead!"_

Well, they certainly weren't good dreams. They seemed almost like prophecies, but that was impossible. For a start, if anything, he felt younger in many of them. So, scratch prophecies then (besides there was no way he'd ever be friends with the Granger girl).

Then simple nightmares. No, that was just stupid. Nightmares didn't come into the day. 

Or maybe you've just gone mental? 

He half smiled as he thought over what James Black would have said. If he had gone crazy of course he couldn't do much about. Just have hope that I haven't, he decided. And, besides, something in him refused to believe that he had gone mental.

Maybe someone's trying to make you go crazy?

Now that was more like Moody, his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He had always been deeply suspicious of everyone and everything. But then again his suspicion had made him the first Dark Arts teacher to actually survive more than a year. Professor Quirrell had fallen in with some minor demon on a holiday, Gilderoy Lockhart had had his reputation ruined after a nasty trick by the Weasleys while Snape (or at least Harry suspected it was Snape) had somehow let it slip that their third teacher Professor Lupin was a werewolf. Moody's year had been practically mild in comparison (all Draco Malfoy's plans for revenge having got unstuck).

So someone was trying to make him go crazy – great hypothesis that was. Still, if that was really the case then he still needed a suspect and a motive. Thinking about it, those two were rather obvious. All the Quidditch teams were especially keen to win this year after the forced break due to the tournament, and if he said so himself, he was kind of an important player to the house side. To conclude then, someone was trying to sabotage his mind before a Quidditch by making him think that he had gone crazy. 

Perhaps he ought to work sometime on his logic skills.

As an idea came to him he quickly ran over to a draw. He searched through it for a few seconds and then finally pulled out the Pocket Sneakoscope that Ron had given him a few years back. He stared at it hard for a few seconds, and then found that he was only more confused than ever. 

It was supposed to spin and light up if there was something untrustworthy about. And if he looked at it hard and kind of squinted he could swear that it was spinning. But if he just looked at it normally it looked perfectly still and docile in his hand. 

"Make your mind up," he muttered and then turned as a knock came on the door. Putting away the Sneakoscope he walked over to the door and pulled it open.

__

"Oh sorry. I thought Ron was in here."

It was Ron's younger sister, blushing as if she was embarrassed. He...

Shook his head and looked again. He was _not_ in the Burrow.

"Harry; you alright?" It was Sally who was standing there, and for once she wasn'twearing a mocking grin.

He started to nod and then at the last moment changed it into a violent shake. "I don't know," he admitted. "Do you know any ways to tell if there's a spell on you?"

"What kind of a spell?" she asked.

"A give–him–horrible–nightmares–and–visions–in–the–day spell?"

She frowned. "That bad? You really should talk to Dad or..."

"No." His tone was final; somehow he knew that his father couldn't make this one better.

"I know someone who could help you..." she said.

"Who?"

*–*

"Hermione?"

Ron looked as if something he had swallowed had gone down the wrong way. James contained his feelings enough to only lift an eyebrow.

"She's the best at spells in the year..." Harry explained rather feebly.

It was a few hours later and the three best friends were sitting on their own in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. As the train hurtled them closer to the horror of school they tried to take their minds off it by catching up with each other. Not that they wouldn't have the time to catch up when they got there - the three of them hardly ever separated.

It had always been that way, and the school had got used to it like that. Harry was the slightly famous one due to his Quidditch place, while Ron was known mostly for being related to his twin brothers. James Black had been friends with Harry since they were toddlers. It was hard not to be friends when you were named after that person's father. He was the slightly serious one, although if he was pushed he could come up with some seriously evil tricks to take on the Slytherins with. 

After all, that had been their main hobby since they had got to the school. Scoring points off Draco and friends seemed the right thing to do. Normally they gave slightly better than they got although they normally got the harsher punishments. They had come very close to getting expelled on quite a few occasions.

Hermione was their other occasional target. Sure, they didn't exactly play tricks on her or even tease her, but she was well established as one of the enemy. It was quite fair play to borrow her homework, and 'research' from it though. 

Ron was the one who teased her the least, and she had always seemed more prepared to help him if he ever came begging for help when Snape had been particularly horrible. Of course as soon as Harry and James had pointed this out Ron had gone into a slight sulk and acted from then on like he hated the girl.

"But this isn't like just homework," Ron protested, and not all of the emotion in his voice was put on. "If you tell her something personal like then, she might well..."

"Personal?" Malfoy had just entered the compartment. "This should be interesting."

"I thought we taught you not to interrupt us last year," recalled Harry.

"Yeah..." drawled James, fingering a wand he had pulled out of his pocket. "I seem to remember something like that as well." 

"Keep dreaming Potter," sneered Malfoy. "Or do you not remember the triplet of detentions you received after your little stunt."

Harry glared at him. Snape being the deputy head (and Professor McGonagall being far too neutral) all added up to Draco having a definite advantage in the teacher's support side. And then there were also his cronies Crabbe and Goyle who kind of gave him the advantage in the muscles (if not intelligence) count.

"Still hiding behind Snape?" James's voice was scornful.

Draco smiled. "Hiding? No. Why would I need to? Besides I'm not the one who goes round like he's got a rope tied between him, Quidditch–boy and well, Weasley."

Ron glared at him. He had always sensitive about his family's financial position, and as soon as Draco had found that out he had exploited it to the full. Ron knew the sort that was coming.

__

"Leave us alone Malfoy," Hermione's voice was almost bored.

"Or you'll...?"

She smiled. "Try me."

Draco looked hard at her, not quite sure what she meant. Finally he backed off, muttering, "Don't say I never warned you."

Hermione was actually standing there, waiting behind Malfoy.

"Why do you go around with Weasley anyway? Its not like he can pay his share, is it?" Draco continued on, still oblivious of the girl behind him and the growing frown on her face.

"And your father got his mother got his money from such a great source, didn't he?" she interrupted, her tone icy.

Draco spun around and glared at her. He hated to be reminded of what has happened.

"How much do they charge to stay at Azkaban anyway?" her voice didn't quite pull off innocent.

"Better to have tried and failed then to be doomed to remain impure."

__

Draco gasped, as furious, she slapped him. 

But that was not here, thought Harry, not in this reality whatever the other one was. If he wanted anything done he would have to do it himself. 

"Get out." His voice was stern, very stern. He was surprised himself at how serious he could make it. Malfoy had released something horrible in him and for a moment his eyes just blazed at the blond Slytherin. Once more, no loss in the power of his voice, "Get out – now."

Something made Malfoy obey, and slowly he stepped backwards. He opened his mouth to speak, but at the sight of the slight shake of Harry's head thought better of it and retreated completely. 

"Thanks," murmured Hermione, breaking the shocked silence.

"That was..." Ron wasn't sure what to add. "Why haven't you done that before?"

"I..." Harry started, not sure how to continue. What could he say? I've been having maniac visions which inspired me? As it was he wasn't sure Ron had taken him seriously when he had spoken about the dream things. 

Except the more they came, the less they were feeling like dreams. The last one had been positively better than real life. Don't forget that your parents are still dead in them though, his better side protested. Yes, he shouldn't start wishing that the dreams were real, he could stand to just wonder for a while.

"I need your help," he finally finished.

Hermione stared at him. If possible she looked even more shocked than before.

*–*

The rest of the day flew by, the familiar mix of slight strangeness as one saw everyone who had returned to school and tried to fit in your mental picture of them to what they had grown to. For some reason every part of that day flowed smoothly, the train leading onto the carriages, and those into the Great Hall. The banquet was just as huge as ever (Hermione didn't even try to peddle her SPEW campaign, the subject of many jokes last year), and the teachers, even Snape, looked relatively happy.

In fact not that much had changed at all. The Slytherins were perhaps more annoying, with the exception of Draco who seemed to by trying to stay out of Harry's way. Cho was still far off, and Harry still couldn't help secretly glancing at her. Fred and George had already played a trick while Snape had already deducted five points off Harry for 'walking lazily.' 

So Harry wasn't surprised when he found that Hermione too was living to form, and busy studying in the library. She glanced up suspiciously at him as he walked in. He didn't feel quite right in here himself.

"What?" she said sharply.

"I told you," he said evenly, "I need your help."

"Ask the teacher." She knew that wasn't the sort of help he wanted.

"Please. I'm sorry about before, but..."

"What before?" she asked curiously. 

Harry took a deep breath. "All of it. I mean that."

Hermione didn't look convinced.

"I'm sorry that I never tried to be friendly with you, because..." He realised that he was back at the admit the maniac dreams part. "I know we could be great friends," he finished rather lamely. "Give me another chance, please?"

She laughed quietly for a few seconds. "Who would have thought it? Harry Potter, famous Quidditch player, asking for year least favourite Hermione's help."

"People don't hate you," he interrupted. "I mean, I don't hate you. Ron... You know Ron doesn't hate you."

Her expression softened. "What do you want?" Her tone was impatient.

Another deep breath, and then he began, "There's something wrong with me. I'm not sure what but I keep getting strange hallucination kind of things in the middle of the day. And before you start, no, I'm not mad. I just need you to do some spells and see if you can tell me what's wrong."

"Harry–," she started, a bit surprised, "that's not easy. Don't you think you ought to see a teacher?"

He shook his head. If he didn't think his father could help then there was no way that he would let a teacher deal with the problem.

"Please."

She still looked worried, but somehow he saw in her gaze that she was tempted to help him. Somehow he couldn't figure out why she would want to."

"Alright," she decided softly, and picked up her books and bag. "But you're going to owe me big."

He nodded. "Whatever you want."

*–*

It was two hours later, and to her credit, Hermione had tried more spells then Harry could count. He was glad a teacher had discovered them in the solitary classroom they had found (or a pupil for that matter; he did not want that rumour to live with). Unfortunately, they were still no closer to knowing what was happening. Finally, she stopped in the middle of one particularly difficult spell and asked him, "Would you do me a favour?"

"Name it," he replied slowly.

"Try to force one of these, well things. If you could actually be in the middle of one, I could, well actually do something."

He nodded; it made sense in a strange way. Yet he would rather not go into a world where his parents were dead than anything. How could he live without them? Slightly shaking he closed his eyes and concentrated.

Three minutes later he opened them. "What exactly am I supposed to do?"

She shrugged. "I don't..."

__

Gryffindor common room. Fire blazing, and by it a crowd of spectators at a chess match. Ron, yes it had to be Ron, playing against his sister Ginny.

"Harry?"

Hermione, coming up from behind him, and looking strangely worried. "Are you alright? You kind of stopped mid–walk there."

She reached out to touch him on his shoulder and then...

"Harry?" 

No wrong world, wrong girl. He closed his eyes, and fought, fought the hardest he had since the Imperius curse in the fourth year. And conversely he felt himself slipping back into it.

"I'm... I'm..." he stopped, not sure what to do and what to say.

She reached out to touch him on the shoulder and...

Voldemort. Dursleys. Hagrid...

Her eyes stared at him in horror. "I thought it was a joke," she whispered.

Back – he had to go back.

__

... Diagon Alley. Station. Hogwarts. Voldemort. Summer. Hogwarts... 

The last fifteen years flowed back and through him and suddenly it all made sense again. Except it didn't really, it made less sense than ever. What was this horrible place? And why did it fell so real?

"I'm going to get the nurse," Hermione decided firmly.

"Stop," his command was strong. And then he started babbling as quickly as he could, "They're not dead you know. My parents aren't dead. They're live – I've seen them. I've lived..."

"Harry!" 

He had never heard her voice filled with so much concern, and even her eyes seemed softer. But then what would he know? He didn't know her. He had seen her a couple of times in class, a few minutes per day out of them. These years in his head were a fraud they must be. He wouldn't let his parents; he wouldn't let his family go.

"What's wrong?" 

Now Ron had stopped his match and was walking over to him. He too was filled with horror. This wasn't Ron, this couldn't be Ron. Ron didn't have a dark wizard for a rat – Ron had a useless pet for a rat.

"Ron, where's James?" Concern, just concern in his eyes, no recognition at all. "Not my father drat it – where's James? Black James! James Black! He is real – I know it."

"What are you trying to deny?_" said a voice that was somehow still in, but separate from the nightmare. "_The lives of these?_"_

Harry spun around. "I deny that this is my life."

"Why are you so angry?_" the voice spoke again. "_Surely you know your own life._"_

And Harry knew that that was the real problem. "Who are you?" he shouted.

"I'm Ron," and Harry was brought back to Gryffindor with a bolt. The whole room was staring at him. It didn't matter though did it, said the doubt in him. This room doesn't exist.

Ron and Hermione were taking him by the arms now and leading him to the exit. Silently, the crowd parted to let him through. They practically fought to stay out of his way. Eyes looking at him with fear, eyes that he knew that were real. He had admitted it.

"If my parents die then Voldemort lives," the quiet words came on their own from his mouth. A shudder passed through the students, and if anything Ron and Hermione sped up.

"You'll be fine," Ron said shakily, and Harry had never heard such an obvious lie before.

"I'm not going to be fine," he told him. "Not here, never here." 

He had admitted it, but still all he wanted to do was go back. 

"Who are you?" he asked again the voice.

"I am fate._"_

And Harry slipped down into nothing.

*–*

"I never should have done it Harry; I'm so sorry."

As his eyes opened Harry smiled as he saw the familiar Hermione. He was no longer in their classroom and instead lying in one of the soft beds of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was coming up, anxiety written all over her face.

Still, he was back. And so happily, he drifted back to sleep.

****

Author's Note:– I'm actually working on another big fanfic project at the moment, so this was just more of a distraction that anything else. I'll probably continue it, especially if a few people like it. Thanks for reading it in any case (and any reviews are appreciated, even one worders like "Good" or more likely, "Terrible"). 


	2. Monday

Monday – Antagonist ****

Monday – Antagonist

Draco Malfoy strode determinedly down the corridor. It was not a subtle stride; his every step expressing unbeatable arrogance and a passionate belief in his own superiority. Was he too proud? Maybe – but he didn't care.

"Draco."

In one quick and smooth movement he turned to see the girl who had accosted him. "What?" he drawled lazily.

"You coming later?" He nodded, and she smiled. Her name was Aya; she was pretty beyond belief, and in much the same way as him, she knew it. She was also extremely bright, and despite being only a normal Slytherin in the same year as him she probably knew easily twice as much. In one way he hated her, in another he admired. Whatever, he knew never to ignore her for too long.

"You heard about Potter?" he said.

"Yes... Apparently he's got some delusion problem," she replied coolly.

"Something is definitely different about him," Draco admitted. He still remembered the scene yesterday when he had actually walked away just because Potter had spoke in a loud voice. Ridiculous really. 

"Anyway, I've got things to do," she said in a stern tone, making it sound as if he had been the one to accost her. A moment later and she had disappeared down one of the various twisting corridors in the place. 

Maybe he hadn't watched her enough recently. For he couldn't believe that she had just stopped him for the banal chat they had just held. Perhaps she was nervous about something – one of her many schemes not coming together properly?

Whatever it was, he wouldn't let it interfere with his only schedule. While his father was still unjustly locked away, he would never let anything meddle with it. It was all coming together so well, and he would not let anything get in his way.

*–*

Harry ran hurriedly into potions, still slightly angry that he had let Madam Pomfrey detain him for so long. He couldn't afford to be late for this lesson, not even if he had had the best excuse in the world.

Snape turned on him the most his foremost foot touched the cold dungeon floor.

"Potter?" He had really been working on his severe voice in the holidays. "I presume you have a good excuse for being late."

A thousand answers sprang into his brain, and he almost swung around to glare at James Black for inspiration he was giving from countless talks they had had. Those thousand answers, while comical, would result in a similar number of punishments. He supposed he might as well start with the real reason.

"I was in the hospital wing, Sir."

"Ill?"

Well – was he ill? He wasn't quite sure what he was going through counted unless you put it under a category that he didn't want to think of. He _was_ sane. 

"Not quite Sir."

Snape glared at him. "Five points off being late, five off for avoiding answers and another twenty for wasting Madam Pomfrey's time."

Harry just nodded, and resignedly walked to his place. Long years of experience had ingrained in him that protesting to the headmaster's face just resulted in a doubling or worse of the punishment. As he went he couldn't help noticing the eyes of the class following him even more than he would usually expect. So rumours of what had been going on had got around.

He sat down in his place by Ron and Hermione_. _No, James. Even after yesterday his mind still kept slipping, and if anything it was only getting more frequent. He belonged _here_, not in that dream that he had slipped into yesterday. It had been a dream.

He tried to forget that when he squinted he could see that it was James sitting beside him, but a blurry shape that could only be Hermione. This was going to end soon, if he had to go to the Minister of Magic himself. Then another idea struck him – Lupin.

*–*

"You're late."

They all stood round him in a circle, their skin pale but their eyes blazing. Judging him.

Draco turned to the speaker. It was Aya, a cruel smile stuck on her face. Her blonde hair was slightly floating, and blue lines flashed across her irises ever few seconds. Her body was relaxed, and yet taut. Draco knew the look – the power was in her.

"I got you this." He pulled out the old book from his bag and the circle of people contracted. A few of them were unable to stop their hands reaching out to try and touch it. They wanted his father's book now, even from a few feet off they could feel its pull. He smiled and slid it back into his book. They were not getting it yet.

"Why do you hide from us Draco?" Again Aya spoke; she seemed to have become the spokesperson at the moment.

"Because I'm not sure whether I should help you or not," he replied.

"You know why you have to help us," she said, and her hand stretched out to his forehead. He grimaced as it connected and he felt a surge pass into him. He had had this before.

Before him a light suddenly opened up and the picture of an old man appeared. His garments may have been loose and his overall impression slack, but his eyes blazed with cold power in them. His hair may have gone white long ago, and now stretched below his shoulders, but he had lost none of his presence. Draco knew his name if he had never seen him before. He was called Dumbledore, and when he had been alive nothing had been able to stand before him.

"There stands the accursed one," the people around him intoned. "There stands the killer of our Lord." 

It was ironic really Draco thought. Even after he had killed off the Dark Lord himself Dumbledore had not done enough. In giving up his life then, he had also given up his control of the school, and the lack of it had led to the people here being able to get away with what they were doing. Snape and McGonagall may be strict, but they were also fools. They knew nothing of the dark spells being undertaken right under their noses. One day they would find out, but by then they would have lost any chance they might have had of stopping this in time.

"Within him we can see the end and from where it shall restart." Aya and her comrades closed their eyes and Draco found his naturally being forced shut as well. Dumbledore's face loomed in his mind, and then expanded until it filled every crevice of him. And then, with a jolt – 

__

Once again he ducked as something shot above him right where he just had been. He narrowly avoided slipping in a puddle created by the still falling rain, every drop of which seemed enchanted to sap a bit more of his strength. Across on the other side of the hillside Voldemort still strode angrily. He wanted this to be over; he was even impatient for it to be so.

Quickly he considered his options again. Run and desert the Potters. Cancel that. Try to capture Voldemort – well, it hadn't exactly been successful so far. Which left...

He stood up straight, making sure that his enemy could see him. All of his life he had avoided this, but now it seemed like he had no choice. Very well, but he knew that he could not survive if he went ahead with it. That would just create another like the one he was about to destroy.

Voldemort was staring at him curiously, but when the Dark Lord saw him muttering he quickly began his own spell. Too late.

He let out his hands and felt something pass out of him. A surge so mighty it felt as if his soul had left him. If this failed...

Voldemort gasped as the blue light struck him, and absorbed into his body. Then he began frantically calling. He had obviously never thought that his calm headmaster knew about, let alone could go through with such a spell. Yet he obviously knew the details of a destiny bond.

He rose his wand to his own head and watched as Voldemort started pleading for his mercy. This was the only way in which he could be sure. Together they had lived, and together, for their own causes, they had fought. Together they would die.

"Avada Kedavra," he whispered. 

Draco awoke from the trance and found that it had actually given him some extra strength. "So?"

"So," the girl explained. "Our Lord was defeated by powers from his own domain. Treachery of the highest order. We must awake him again so that he can take his proper vengeance."

Draco just shook his head slowly. These people didn't know anything – they weren't that much better than an everyday cult. He knew the real reason why they wanted to awake _him_. They had touched the dark power, and found it irresistible. And it had blackmailed them into doing what it wanted – bringing back its lost son. He had touched it himself, and he knew its power. If he hadn't already got a quest he might have even fallen into its trap. But his own responsibility was his father.

"You've shown me that before, and it didn't work that time either," he reminded them.

"You brought the book this time, didn't you?" reminded a boy from behind.

He sighed, brought the book out again and threw it over their heads. While they were turning to get it he took the chance to escape from them and walk out of the room. The spells they would need were in that book, but also his own charms. As long as they worked everything should go his way. Six days now and this would all be over.

*–*

"You're having _hallucinations_?"

Harry wished that his former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher didn't make it sound so ridiculous.

"Yes. Kind of. As I just spent the last five minutes explaining."

Lupin's head shook in bewilderment, "I'm sorry... Just not a thing students normally complain about."

"You don't say." Harry had always liked his father's friend, but this conversation was getting nowhere.

"There is one spell you could try," Lupin admitted after a while of considering. "It uses the magic that Veritaserum and your pocket Sneakoscope are based on. If you enchant something correctly with a Veritus spell, say your glasses, they should be able to tell you if whatever you're looking at is truth."

"Truth?" 

"Well, just to check that you're not seeing the future or something," Lupin explained.

Harry was glad at that moment that he hadn't told Lupin what the hallucinations were about. "Is this spell complicated?"

Lupin nodded. "Afraid so. About the only one who could probably do it in your class is Hermione, but there's not much chance she would do it for you after the way you treated her. Here, give me your glasses and I'll see if I can do it."

Harry blushed at the accusation, but took his glasses off at the same time and passed them into the fire from where Lupin's head was speaking. The man took them with his mouth and then disappeared for a few moments. He popped back a moment later and Harry took them back gratefully. He hated the blurry way the world looked when he didn't have them.

"There," Lupin said, sounding pleased with himself. "Wasn't sure if I would remember that one, but obviously I did. It won't last forever mind. It should wear off by, say, tomorrow."

Harry nodded. With the frequency they were coming that should be plenty long enough. "Thank you. I'm sorry, but I've got homework now and I really should be going."

His older friend nodded. "Glad I could be of assistance. Look after yourself, and make sure you tell someone if these things keep happening." With that he was gone.

Harry put out the fire, and left the empty classroom from which he had sneaked into. 

"Harry?"

He turned at the concerned voice to see his sister Sally coming down the corridor.

"You alright? I heard that you were with the nurse last night."

"I'm... fine." he told her at last, "it's nothing serious to worry about." She didn't look as if she believed him, but then again she hardly ever did.

"If you say so," she said, and then she was off down the corridor. 

He was about to turn to follow her when...

_"Harry!" Hermione's call sounded worried._

"Harry, what are you staring at?" Ron's voice sounded concerned as well. Their voices must have been like that since yesterday.

"My sister," he replied, but from their looks it appeared as if the simple answer didn't make them feel any better. 

"Harry..." Hermione again, her tone sounding like she had decided to ignore what he had just said. "Why are your glasses glowing?"

His glasses? He remembered something about them, but life was so confusing at the moment. Glowing meant something, he was sure of it.

He collapsed, and would have fell to the floor if his sister hadn't been there to catch. "You said you were alright..." She said it as if he had been lying before.

_"Are my glasses glowing?" he asked desperately._

"Harry, we just told you..." Ron started.

"No," Sally replied in a puzzled tone. "Why would they be glowing?"

"Lupin put a Veritus charm on them," he told her weakly. "They should be glowing..."

"As in if you were seeing truth?" Sally looked no less confused.

_He could hardly see now for the glow that was obscuring his vision. "This is truth," he said slowly. Furiously he pulled his glasses off and flung them against the wall._

"Harry..." Hermione's voice was more of a breath than anything else now. A breath of shock .

The fragments of glass still glowed. Aghast he flung his hand to his head, shut his eyes, and tried to make it all go away. Under his hand he felt a scar. A scar?

"You're not real," he told his sister coldly.

Her eyes widened, but she still managed to softly take his arm and she tried to pull him along. 

"Terry and Ben, they're not real either." It felt good to get something like that out in the air. And horrifying at the same time.

"Me, Terry, Ben, Mum, Dad... We're all real," Sally tried to tell him.

Harry laughed bitterly. "Mum and Dad are dead."

"All right Potter," said Madam Pomfrey, as suddenly she appeared from some door. To his surprise that quite a crowd had built up in the last minute or two. "Just try and relax." She muttered a spell, and then his command on any reality began to disappear, and he sank into a deep and blissful sleep.

_His hand slowly dropped from the scar. It was over, or at least it was for a time. The call from the other world had suddenly stopped, as if it had been blocked from him. He staggered along to a window side seat and dropped down into it._

_"I'm fine," he said, but it was obvious Ron and Hermione didn't believe him. "Just fine."_

"You don't look fine," Hermione said quietly, and Ron just slowly shook his head.

"Well," Harry admitted, "I could do with another pair of glasses."

Hermione just raised her eyebrows. "What did you do to the old lot? Glasses don't start glowing by themselves."

Harry nodded. "I'll explain later. I think I'm going to need the nurse?"

Slowly, very slowly, he made his way over to Madam Pomfrey's room. One minute later and she'd dug out some glasses he could borrow and set him on his way after a lot of well-chosen words. And then he pulled Hermione and Ron out to a deserted spot in the grounds.

"OK," he told them firmly. "You want to know what's been happening?"

They nodded. And so he told them. At the end both of them looked as shocked as he had felt earlier.

"Harry..." she started and Ron at the same time would say softly, "I..." and then they would both stop, waiting for the other to continue. 

"Your parents," Hermione finally whispered

"What's it like?" Ron asked. "I mean... apart from them. Different?" At Hermione's accusing look, which clearly was one suggesting more tact, he tried to rationalise the question. "I mean, if we know what's different, it's the first step to knowing why."

"I suppose," Hermione said, "but I wish you'd go to Dumbledore or something."

"He's not around there?" Ron guessed, as Harry winced.

"No," said Harry. "So I guess he might be motivated to help at least"

"Are we around then?" 

Hermione gave another quizzical glare at that.

"Yeah..." Harry told them. "You're both around more or less."

Ron looked worried at that but before he could comment Hermione quickly said, "You have a sister?"

Harry just inclined his head. "And two brothers. And Sirius has a son. And..." He stopped.

"It sounds like a better world really." Ron sounded like he didn't really want to be saying that.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? I mean Dumbledore's gone, and Draco's father." 

That almost brought a smile to Ron's face. "You–know–who?"

"Gone."

"That sounds like a big difference," Hermione muttered. "How did he get killed?"

"Dumbledore sacrificed himself in some way," Harry replied. "I don't think anyone knows why particularly or how he did it. Nobody really wants to speak about it. I just know that they found the two of their bodies on a field. No marks on either."

And then a great pain hit his scar. He gasped, and tried not to fall over. A face appeared in front of him – a deadly pale face. Its eyes spotted him and they gleamed in triumph. He knew that face – Voldemort.

*–*

Aya stood watching proudly as her master slowly hobbled towards her. His every step looked weak, but she could not make herself care. She had raised him from the waters like she had once vowed she would. And now he was hers and power would follow after it.

"Who... are... you?" he gasped. Deathly menace behind those words.

"I am your Master," she started.

"Wrong," Draco interrupted, walking down the lake's bank from behind her. He produced something small that gleamed for a while and then pocketed it again. "I control that book" – he pointed to the ancient volume she had just finished reading from – "and anything cast from it. You are mine, and it is time for you to perform your first duty."

He stopped and smiled at her. She glared back. And Draco didn't care – he didn't care one bit.

****

Author's Note:– Thanks for all of you who reviewed last time – sorry it took so long – but your regular reminders to keep going sure helped. Next instalment I'm not saying anything about, because if I do, the opposite will happen. Let's just say I hope it'll take a lot shorter. If you want you can leave your email address or use author alert or something – probably the most reliable way if you're interested in a third part. Oh yeah, and while I've got a rough idea for the next five days, any of your ideas for plots / subplots would be really helpful.


	3. Tueday

Tuesday ****

Author's Note:– Italics take on a different role in this chapter to their purpose in others. In the first section (sections are separated by *–*s by the way) they are used for memories. After that they are used to show events happening to the world that that particular section didn't start in. It sounds confusing and it probably is – but honestly, I've tried to make this chapter easier to follow than the last two. Please tell me if I've succeeded or failed.

Combined with my usual incredible laziness, FFN going down, and me going on a 2 week holiday the day before it went up this chapter has been complete for ages now. My apologies.

****

Tuesday – Training

Sally Potter was a girl who was getting quite worried.

In fact, scratch that, she was getting very worried. And as usual, it was one of her brothers' fault. Except unlike was the case normally, this time it wasn't Ben or Terry, but Harry. She had always kind of respected her older brother, although admittedly he did get on her nerves when he wouldn't stop talking about Quidditch. And she had thought she would never be able to bear being near him again the first time he had come home from Hogwarts. His normal obsession with Quidditch had been doubled and then quadrupled again by the fact that he'd already got into his house team. Big deal, she had thought then and still did. 

When she was feeling particularly honest perhaps she might let herself realise that she was just a bit jealous. Dad had been more pleased about Harry and that stupid game then he had about her test results. Never mind that she had got better results than anyone had in the last five years (well, apart from that girl Hermione Granger, but she didn't count). 

Still, apart from his Quidditch obsession he was normally all right. And normally he didn't look like he had yesterday. And start saying such things.

__

She had only just managed to catch him as he collapsed and nearly slumped to floor.

"You said you were alright..." she said accusingly.

"Are my glasses glowing?" he asked, looking up at her with a desperate look in his eyes. His eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment.

"No," she replied, wondering what on earth he was talking about... "Why would they be glowing?"

"Lupin put a Veritus charm on them," he said, his words coming out weakly as if every one was an effort. "They should be glowing..."

She thought desperately and managed to recall the particular charm. If she remembered quickly they made things able to distinguish between truth and lies. If they were glowing then it must be "As if you were seeing truth?" He didn't answer, and instead his eyes went blank again as if there was no soul behind them.

Suddenly he spoke. "You're not real."

For a moment she just stared at him. She had never heard his voice sound like this. There was something very wrong with him – he needed to see Madam Pomfrey. Gently, she tried to take his arm and pull him along. 

"Terry and Ben, they're not real either." 

"Me, Terry, Ben, Mum, Dad... We're all real," she said quickly, feeling as if she was humouring a lunatic.

Harry laughed bitterly. "Mum and Dad are dead."

Madam Pomfrey had taken him then. She had appeared from the midst of a crowd that Sally hadn't even notice accumulate. The school nurse had taken her brother away quicker than she could recover from her shock and follow him. And so, she had wondered back to the Gryffindor common room in a kind of half daze. 

On Sunday she remembered he had been talking about horrible visions and nightmares, and she had told him to go see Hermione Granger. And then later that night Hermione had found her.

_"Sally, I'm sorry, but...." Hermione started, in what had sounded then like an embarrassed tone._

Sally had turned around from the table where she had been playing chess against Ginny to see the older girl. "What?" she asked.

"Harry," Hermione said. "He... he came to me about some problems he had been having and...."

Sally nodded slowly. She had suggested that Harry find the girl, much to his disgust. She didn't know why Harry disliked her. Probably just because the girl was about ten times as clever as him. It was Sally's ambition one day to beat one of Hermione's test scores.

Hermione finished hurriedly. "He collapsed. He was saying really strange things before that and then..."

Two days in a row now he had ended his day in one of Madam Pomfrey's beds. She had a feeling that he wouldn't even be allowed out of his bed today. So, against her more logical side which suspected that James Black and Ron Weasley there would probably doing a fine enough job entertaining him on their own, she had decided to go visit him. 

When she did get to the hospital wing (and persuaded Madam Pomfrey to let her in) she found that after all he was on his own. She slowly made her way over to him and saw that he was lying quite still. Every few moments his eyes alternated with being wide open and shut. What was he doing? As she closer still she heard that he was muttering "Here" every time his eyes opened.

"Harry?" she said cautiously. His eyes opened, but she had a feeling that was just part of his routine as she heard him mutter "Here" again. She touched her hand to his forehead just as his eyes closed again. 

And then it happened.

*–*

Sally blinked. She had been sure his eyes were closing, but instead she saw that they were now in the process of opening. 

"Here," he murmured softly.

And, to her surprise, her fingers were no longer touching soft skin. Instead the surface they connected with had a rough but thin jagged line going through it. As she pulled her away she saw that something very terrible had happened. There was a scar there.

She jumped back and stared at her brother's forehead. It was definitely there - a single, crooked line slightly off the centre of his face. It looked a bit like a bolt of lightning almost. Except, as she looked closer she saw that it was not the only thing different. He may be in the same bed, but the sheets he was in were arranged slightly differently. Her eyes searched the room and she began to see that the room, although similar at a vague glance, when viewed with a close examination that the details were almost completely different. 

She ran to over to the window, and frantically stuck her head out. Outside Hogwarts looked almost the same as our familiar home. And yet again there were still slight differences. The garden looked a lot more tidy for one thing. She noticed Cho Chang, a girl two years above her walking down a path. Even that girl's walk seemed slightly wrong. Less mischievous and full of life, and more that of a person who had quickly had to grow up.

She walked dazedly out of the hospital wing and towards Gryffindor tower. Surely that would be the same. And yet, even as she approached it she became more worried. People walked past her with curious glances. Alicia Spinnet looked at her as if she had never seen her before. They reached the Fat Lady at almost the same time, and Alicia waited for her to say the password.

"Pazara," Sally said.

The Fat Lady just looked at her curiously. 

"Blamana," Alicia interrupted hurriedly, and Sally followed in behind her as the portrait swung open.

The common room seemed almost identical as the one she had been in only an hour before. Certainly the chairs could have moved and changed position the way they had in that time. Then she saw Ron Weasley. He was sitting and talking in a low voice, not to James Black, as she would have guessed would be the case ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, but Hermione Granger. They almost looked like friends.

"Ginny!" she called, finally spotting her best friend sitting in one corner. Ginny's red hair swung up as her head turned to look at her, and Sally saw that it wasn't as neat as normal. It reminded her of what she had looked like when Ginny had first come to Hogwarts. But the hair was nothing to the eyes. The horribly hollow eyes that had no idea of who she was.

"Hello," said the girl who had been her best friend for the majority of her life. "Does someone want me?"

"I..." Sally stopped. "Don't you recognise me?"

"No," said Ginny simply. "Who are you?"

She had been expecting it, but somehow that didn't make it when it came any better. "Not at all?" she asked, somewhat desperately.

Ginny screwed up her eyes. "There's something faintly familiar about you, but... Sorry. Are you new?"

"Familiar," she repeated faintly. Of course she looked familiar. Sally had spent half of the last four years with this girl. She bit her lip, and tried to think logically. What had happened to her?

"You look a bit..." Ginny stopped, sand blushed ever so slightly as if she thought what she was about to say was ridiculous. "You look a bit like Harry. Harry Potter. You've got the same eyes as him and..."

"Someone once told me they looked exactly like my mother's."

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, maybe I've seen her somewhere. What was she called?"

"Lily."

That startled Ginny a bit. "Did you say Lily? I'm sorry, it's just..."

"Your mother is called Molly Weasley," Sally started to intone. "Your father is Arthur Weasley, and you wish he would spend more time at home as he tends to spoil you. You have six older brothers, and it drives you mad most of the time. The one who was always kindest to you was Charlie. You..."

"What?" Ginny exclaimed. Again she asked, "Who are you? Do you know me?"

Sally could feel half the Gryffindor common room watching her. "You can't stand Quidditch, but you pretend otherwise to stop your brothers half killing you. You still haven't figured out what you want to be when you're older, as it changes every other week, although at the moment you like the idea of being a journalist. The first memory you have is Ron's toy turning into a spider and him screaming the house down."

Ginny's eyes were gazing at her with shock in them. "Who are you?" she asked once more. "And ever since Rita Skeeter started her campaign I've gone off journalism."

"I'm Sally. And I'm your best friend." And with that, she couldn't stand Ginny's gaze anymore and so she spun on her heel and ran out of the room. 

Behind her Ginny didn't move out of her chair. Her brother Ron walked over to her. "Who _was _that?" he asked.

Ginny just shook her head.

*–*

"Here."

Harry let the reality that his eyes saw blur for a moment until _he found himself in the other world._

"Here," he said once more. That was it, he had done it a hundred times now, and could do it as easy as breathing. He could jump between the two worlds at will. So which should he get up into? He thought back over yesterday and where he had fell unconscious in both realities. At last he decided that his sister probably needed reassuring the most. 

He slipped with an effort out of bed, and quickly crept out of the hospital wing. To his relief Madam Pomfrey's back was turned long enough for him to escape. Somehow he didn't think she would let him go, and he knew that he couldn't afford to waste any time cooling his heels in a bed. He needed to figure out what was going on.

He made his way back up to his common room. "Pazara," he told the Fat Lady lazily, and she let him in. He found Ginny on the other side of the common room, currently on her own engrossed in a book.

"Ginny," he interrupted her, "have you seen Sally?"

She looked up, and stared at him, slightly puzzled. "She went down to the hospital wing to see you. Are you feeling better now? Not going to start scaring her to death again by pretending to be insane."

He faked a smile, and shook his head. Ginny had always been very sceptical around him. "I'll try. I didn't see her downstairs, she probably got distracted by something." Of course, he had been quite occupied in the hospital wing, so there was a good chance that is she had come to see him quietly that he would not have noticed her.

Ginny nodded uncertainly. "She looked pretty determined. I'll tell her to find you if she turns up."

Harry thanked her and turned around to find James Black walking up to meet him.

"Harry!" his friend said. "You'll never guess what that lucky idiot Cedric's parents just sent him."

"What?" Harry said, curious.

"I'll give you three guesses," said James, leading him over to the portrait hole.

"A broomstick."

"Yeah, but you've got to be more specific than that. His parents probably saved up to get it for him as a reward for his team actually managing to win a match two years ago. Honestly Harry, you had to let yourself be distracted by Cho, didn't you?"

"Hey! Two years and you still won't let me forget about that? I told you before that Malfoy cursed my broomstick and it had told nothing to do with... Anyway, don't you think it's more likely to be a reward for him being champion in the tournament last year?"

James just laughed. "If I was him or his family, I'd be trying to forget that whole incident. Honestly, coming third after Durmstrang, a school that's been in shambles for the last decade, and that girl from France who had probably never even got a speck of dust on her before...

"Hang on a minute, you're getting me off topic. You were guessing his broomstick?"

"Cleansweep 8."

"Nope."

"Nimbus 2001."

"Wrong."

"2002."

"Still wrong. This is getting boring – let me see if I can make it easy even for you.... Try the letter 'F' as a starting point...."

"No way!" Harry exclaimed, as they walked down the corridor. It was so easy he considered to forget the last three days and fall back into his old life. So easy to forget that the boy he was talking to didn't even exist....

*–*

"Sally?"

Sally looked up from where she had been buried in books to see who had been calling her. It turned out to be Ron. She relaxed for a moment before she remembered that he wasn't _her _Ron. He was the Ron from wherever this place was. At least the library she was in seemed to be roughly the same.

Ron glanced over the titles of the books she was reading. "'Advanced Reality Distortion', 'Theoretical Dimension Discussion: What the Muggles Think and What We Know', and 'If? A Study of Alternate Universes." His glance moved over to another pile on her right: "'Mental Problems – How to tell when you're insane', 'Dementia' and 'When Memory Charms Go Wrong'."

She turned up to look at him. "So?"

Ron took a deep breath. "Let me guess. Sally, and if I'm wrong please forget I ever said this and please don't always look at me strangely in the corridors when you walk by, but... is your full name Sally Potter?"

Sally dropped the book she was looking at. "You remember me?"

Ron shook his head hurriedly. "No, but.... Harry was going slightly mental yesterday, and.... He talked to us and said that he keeps thinking he's in some other reality or something. And – he told me he had a sister calling Sally." Ron let out his deep breath. "I thought you might be her."

Sally slowly nodded. Had this been what Harry was going on about yesterday? "My parents," she said. "They're dead, aren't they?"

Ron suddenly walked over to a shelf, searched it for a moment, and then brought back another book – 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts'. He flung it open roughly on a table and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. He showed it to her – it was a picture of a young baby wrapped up in a blanket. After a moments she was sure. "It's my brother, isn't it?"

Ron nodded, and started to quote from the book, "... Although we don't know much about the night when You–Know–Who decided to kill the Potters, we have been able to work out the following rough summary of events. After startling them in the middle of the night he managed to kill most likely first James Potter and then his wife Lily."

Sally gasped. Why her parents?

Ron continued, "However, after those tragedies, an event took place which is as puzzling as it is joyous. The dark wizard proceeded to curse the Potters' boy, Harry Potter. As every wizarding child knows the curse instead of killing him, bounced back onto You–Know–Who. For all practical purposes the rebounded curse's effect was enough for him to lose his body and all his powers. His dark forces as a result, collapsed."

Ron slammed the book shut again. Sally just stared at him. "How? Why? What then? I..."

"Harry was taken to your aunt and uncle," Ron said. "They looked after him until he was eleven."

"The muggles?" Sally was almost as shocked by that, as by the rebounded curse. Her mother's sister and family hated the Potters. They'd only ever met up once, and it was an event that Sally would never forget – especially the fight that had broken out between Harry and her cousin Dudley. She shook her head quickly to clear it. "So my older brother was responsible for You–Know–Who's downfall? That's almost as strange as the situation we're in now."

Ron smiled. "Pretty much."

"How did he ever live up to that at school?" Sally wondered. "You'd never do anything more impressive than what you had done as a baby."

Ron's smile widened as he remembered the last four years. "You'd be surprised. Sally – how did you get here?"

Sally shrugged her shoulders. "I guess it happened when I touched Harry." She shivered as she remembered his scar. Now she knew how he had got it.

"Then if you touch him again you might be able to get back?" Ron suggested.

"Worth a try," she said.

Ron helped her put the books she had been looking at back and then the two of them made their way back down to the hospital wing. Harry was still lying motionless in a bed. Sally walked over to him, and pressed her hand again lightly to his forehead. 

Nothing happened. 

She pressed her hand again to his scar, harder this time. Still nothing.

__

Harry smiled as he saw James just manage to edge past Cedric. They had been racing Harry's Firebolt against Cedric's for the last hour. Suddenly he felt a slightly strange sensation on his forehead. His scar? 

"And I win!" shouted James in triumph as he passed the tree that had been designed as the finishing line.

Again Harry felt a sensation, but this time it was stronger. It wasn't exactly unpleasant – just different. Then a much lighter feeling on his arm. What was happening?

The other world.

Of course, it must be something to do with that. He smiled at James as he continued to circle in triumph. "Have another go," he shouted up at him. Then he sat back down on the ground against a tree and let his vision blur. One moment he was outside at the Quidditch pitch and the next he was lying in a hospital bed again. Sally, his sister, was just walking away from him. It must have been she who touched him.

Except she didn't belong in this world. She belonged in the other world – he grimaced, the constant change of meaning of the word other was getting confusing.

"Sally?" he asked.

She turned to look at him, and Harry saw to his surprise that Ron was standing by her. With a quick glance he worked out that it was Dumbledore–Alive world Ron. (That was a better way to think of it than Parents–Dead world Ron). But the two of them belonged to different realities – how on earth were they next to each other?

"Harry," she said, and she ran back to him. "You remember me, right? Of course you do, you just said my name... Sorry, I'm babbling, aren't I? But – what is happening to us?"

Ron slowly walked over to join them. "Harry, over there, when did Dumbledore die? Was it before the end of October or not?"

"I... don't know," Harry said at last. "Sorry."

"September the seventh," said Sally quietly. Harry smiled. His sister had always known more than he had.

Ron muttered to himself for a moment. "That must be it." 

"What?"

"The day when the worlds changed." It was Hermione. She must have entered the hospital wing while they were all distracted. "Ron and I did a lot of research last night – from what you told us that seemed most likely. On September 7th 1980 something happens to make Dumbledore sacrifice or not sacrifice his life."

Sally looked at her curiously. "You and Ron? You're friends here?" She smiled to herself. "Ginny always said that... never mind."

"All three of us are," Harry told her. He turned to Hermione. "I... I don't treat you well in the other place."

She shrugged her shoulders as if it was the most unimportant thing in the world. Or worlds, for that matter. "Now we know what we need to do. We've got to speak to Dumbledore and see if we can find out what is happening to Harry. And why."

"We've got to do something else first," said Ron. "Get Sally back."

At that Harry was reminded of the curious event of his sister being in this place. Thankfully Hermione too had worked out like Ron who Sally was and so the ensuing explanations did not take as long as they could have.

"I just touched his forehead as he shut his eyes," said Sally finally, describing exactly what had happened. "Then he opened them and said 'Here.'"

A spark of light awoke in Harry's head. "I understand now," he said. "Touch my head again."

Uncertainly Sally walked forward, and pressed her palm lightly onto his scar again. She stared up into his eyes and saw that they were starting to glaze over again...

*–*

Sally looked around her in amazement, for she was no longer standing in either hospital wing. Instead she was lying in one of the hospital wing beds. She saw Madam Pomfrey at the other side of the room, and the nurse came hurrying over to her.

"How are you?"

Sally tried to get up, but the nurse held her down. "I'm fine," she protested.

"We'll see about that," Madam Pomfrey said grimly. After a while though, even she had to admit there was nothing wrong with Sally and so she let her go with a few mutters about Potters who kept fainting all over the place. 

With a start Sally glanced at a clock and saw that lunch break was almost over. It seemed a very, very long time since the beginning of that break when she had decided to go visit her brother. Too much had happened. 

Wearily she set off to Transfiguration, knowing full well that she would never be able to concentrate_._


End file.
